Mona Lisa Eclipsing m-5

by Sunny

  “Huh. Mona Kelly. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Mona Lisa does,” Kelly said with the first smile I had seen her give.

  I chuckled. “No, I guess it doesn’t. But still, I wish I’d been named something else.”

  “Where to next?” Quentin asked when everyone was done eating.

  “Can the GPS tell us where the nearest mall is?” I asked.

  “That it can.” His fingers flew quickly over the touch screen.

  We were at the mall five minutes later. I turned on my cell phone as we pulled into the parking lot and found ten messages waiting for me. The first was from a Mr. Harry Wagner from the law firm specializing in public law and policy where I had been so nastily rebuffed by the receptionist. I put it on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

  “I apologize for not returning your call sooner but I was not aware you had called until now. I would very much like to speak to you,” the voice said, giving a phone number.

  “Does anyone have a pen and paper?” I asked.

  “No need,” Quentin said, flipping open his cell phone. “I can jot his name and number on the notepad application.” The guy was an obviously experienced texter. “See? What would you people do without me?”

  “Get along just fine without you,” Dante said, messing up his brother’s hair.

  The next several messages were all from McManus, our attorney. The first one started out calm. “This is George McManus. Give me a call. My cell phone number is . . .”

  The next one that followed: “I’m still here talking to reporters, police, and FBI on your behalf. Call me.”

  The third call: “My office is getting flooded with phone calls. New York Times, Washington Post, USA Today, and a bunch of local reporters want to interview you. Call me back soon. I’m still on the clock. You’re racking up a huge bill, lady. Call me!”

  McManus’s voice was even more agitated in the next message, informing us that he and his office staff were getting hammered with requests from the media. “For God’s sake, Barbara Walters called, along with every other news channel in this country. Even some from England, Australia, China, and India. I don’t know what to tell these people. Call me, dammit!”

  The ninth message was from Harry Wagner again.

  “Mona Lisa . . . Miss Hamilton. I want to apologize on behalf of my receptionist again and assure you that our law firm is the best in the country for your needs. We have the clout, reputation, and political connections to help you gain rights for your people. No other law firm can match our expertise, or the breadth of services we offer our clients. In addition to influential lobbyists, we have media relations specialists and any other outside experts you might need. Please call me so we can discuss this further. Our office has already closed for the day, but you can reach me anytime at my private number.” He rattled off a different phone number from what he had given previously, repeating it twice.

  “Did you get that, Quentin?” I asked.

  “Yup,” he said, his fingers busy typing on the keys. “Boy, does he seem eager for our business. Sounds like the receptionist got her lazy and sarcastic ass kicked.”

  The final message was from McManus, called in less than half an hour ago.

  “It’s six o’clock, Ms. Hamilton, and I’ve gotten over two hundred emails. Your bill is four thousand dollars now. Call me!”

  Flipping the phone closed, I looked at everyone in silence. “Wow. I guess a lot of people want to talk to us.”

  “Four thousand dollars!” Hannah said, harrumphing loudly. “I hope that’s not in addition to the retainer we gave him.”

  “Nope, it’s not,” Dontaine said, doing a quick calculation. “Four hundred dollars an hour and ten hours of his time so far. Minus the one-thousand-dollar retainer, we owe him another three thousand dollars and counting, until you call him and tell him otherwise.”

  “Call Wagner first,” Dante suggested. “If you like him, we can transfer everything to their media relations specialist to handle. Their services might be even more expensive,” he warned, “but it sounds like McManus is out of his depth.”

  Wagner answered on the first ring.

  We talked.

  I liked what he had to say, up to the point when I asked him how much it would cost, and found out he couldn’t give me a figure until we sat down with him and a few other members of his firm, and discussed in exact detail what our goals were. That, he said, would take an hour, at the very minimum.

  When I asked if he could meet in half an hour, Wagner politely said that was unfortunately not possible as it was very late in the evening, and offered to meet with us nine a.m., first thing in the morning. That resulted in an explanation from me that we usually slept during the day and awoke around six at night, the time when their office closed. There was some more discussion on whether we could meet earlier in the morning or in the early evening, with Wagner’s law firm extending their business hours to accommodate us. We both agreed the earlier the better, and we settled on seven a.m. the next morning.

  My next call was to McManus. He picked up on the third ring. “McManus here,” he growled.

  “It’s Lisa Hamilton, returning your call.”

  “About time!” he roared. “Why the hell didn’t you call me back sooner?”

  “We were sleeping and my phone was turned off. I just turned it back on and got your messages. Thanks for fielding all the calls for us.”

  “Expensive damn answering service, at four hundred dollars an hour.”

  “I agree. We’ll be happy to take over from here. How about we settle things tonight?” I offered, since there was no guarantee of a tomorrow if things went sour, and gave him the name of the mall we were at. We agreed to meet in half an hour—how long it would take him to drive here—at the outdoor restaurant I had glimpsed next to the mall entrance.

  “Including the time it’ll take me to drive there, that will be a total of eleven billable hours,” McManus said.

  “We’ll have three thousand four hundred dollars in cash waiting for you,” I assured him.

  “Good. I’ll have a receipt ready and can hand you all of your messages. Who do I tell people to call when they contact my office looking for you?”

  “It’ll most likely be one of the three law firms I mentioned to you. I should have a name and number for you early tomorrow morning.”

  “Good luck,” he said. “They’re even more expensive than I am.”

  I said good-bye and hung up. “Ouch,” I said, wincing. “Even more expensive . . . that’s hard to believe.”

  “What do we do now?” Kelly asked. “Sit here for half an hour waiting for the lawyer?”

  “Yeah. Sorry,” I said. “If we go in to buy stuff now, chances are some of us will be recognized and we have to make a quick exit. Best to wait until McManus is here.”

  “Why?” asked Dante.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do we have to run?” Dante asked in a reasonable tone. “If our goal is publicity, here will do just as well as any other place. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow to call any of the reporters back. If we stay here, they’ll come to us, and the outdoor restaurant of the mall will be as good a spot as any other to talk to the media. We’re lucky the police haven’t tracked us down yet. They know our names now and my mother used her driver’s license to rent this vehicle.”

  “This van is one of their most basic models. I doubt it has a tracking system installed,” Quentin noted. “But if they know the make, model, and license plate of our rental, Dante’s right. Cops will probably be on the lookout for it now.”

  So it was only a matter of time before they found us. That put things in better perspective. Cops, bad. Media and publicity, good.

  We took another few minutes to iron out our plans and yet more discussion to divide ourselves up into three groups. Amber, Quentin, and I were assigned to get a laptop—Quentin had insisted having a computer was essential. Dante would go with Jarvis and Kelly to buy stuff for them and to
grab some hats and sunglasses. Dontaine, Hannah, and Nolan would hit Staples for basic office supplies, like pens, envelopes, and notebooks.

  Kelly’s mouth dropped open when Dontaine opened the briefcase full of cash.

  “That’s a lot of money,” she said, her eyes as round as saucers.

  “I thought so, too, at first. But it’s going real fast,” I said mournfully watching as Dontaine counted out McManus’s fee, eliminating two of our stacks.

  Dontaine reminded everyone to get receipts and started doling out money to the three groups.

  “Just a sec,” Quentin said. “I used the guest computer in the lobby while you guys were sleeping. Per the U.S. Treasury web site, the Treasury stopped printing all the larger denomination bills after World War II. So all the five-hundred-, one-thousand-, five-thousand-, and ten-thousand-dollar bills are collector items.” That eliminated the entire bottom row of money. He rifled through the remaining stacks, removing some of the older dated fifties and one-hundreds. “Keep these separate, as well,” he said, handing them to Dontaine. “They also might be collectible.”

  That left only a few pitiful stacks of money for our immediate use, I noted with a sigh. “Hannah, if you can hang on to the briefcase, that will free up Nolan’s and Dontaine’s hands.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Okay, don’t forget,” I reminded everyone. “When everyone’s done shopping, each group will get a separate table outside at the restaurant. Amber will guard our table while Quentin and I talk to reporters. Likewise, Dante will keep an eye out, freeing Kelly and Jarvis to answer questions, and Nolan will stand guard while Hannah and Dontaine talk to the media.”

  “Milady, you wish us to talk to reporters?” Jarvis asked with discomfort.

  “Yes, six of us answering questions will be better than just me talking.”

  “What are we allowed to say?” he asked.

  “Easier to tell you what to avoid. Don’t mention Prince Halcyon, the Queen Mother, the specific names of any Monère Queens or the territories they rule, or any details about what hurts or weakens us. Talking about Hell or NetherHell or my brother is also a big no-no. Do you and Kelly know about me and Dante? Our past history together?”

  “No, milady,” Jarvis said.

  “Good, so you won’t have any problem there, but that’s something you shouldn’t talk about either. And no mentioning curses or reincarnation or anything like that.” The list of things-not-to-mention was longer than I had thought.

  “But everything else is fair game,” I told him. “Don’t worry about it too much, Jarvis. Just answer whatever you feel comfortable answering. If they ask you a question you don’t want to answer, you just say something like, ‘I’m sorry, I’d rather not answer that,’ and refer them to me. Okay?”

  He nodded glumly.

  “Same goes for everyone else. Any questions you don’t want to answer, feel free to refer my way, or change the subject to something you don’t mind talking about. Oh, and no mention of New Orleans for now—that was where we came from,” I explained to Kelly and Jarvis. “They may eventually find out but we’ll wait for them to dig it out.”

  There was some more haggling about where we should park the van.

  “Not here in the mall parking lot,” Dante said. “It’s too easy to block the mall exits.”

  We ended up deciding to park on a small road across from the back entrance of the mall. We drove back to the mall, dropped everyone off near one of the smaller entrances, then Quentin, Amber, and I parked the van. When traffic thinned, we zipped our way quickly back, going into Best Buy.

  “Go on in ahead of us,” I told Quentin. “It’ll probably be better if Amber and I stay a little apart from you.”

  Good-looking boy that he was, Quentin would draw eyes, but not like Amber would through his sheer size.

  Sure enough, as soon as we walked in, the young employee standing by the door immediately looked at Amber, and then of course me, standing next to him. Recognition dawned and his mouth dropped open.

  I gave him a smile as we walked by then steered us toward the back part of the store. We ended up in an aisle across from the big-screen TV section, keeping a distant eye on Quentin who had gotten a very eager employee to help him choose a laptop. The few people we passed stopped to look at us but no one had approached us yet. A small crowd, however, was starting to gather, taking pictures and video with their cell phones. Good thing we’d separated from Quentin; no one seemed to recognize him. All the attention, so far, was focused just on us.

  Someone changed all the televisions to a news channel, so that suddenly all the screens were featuring a close-up shot of yours truly. They were rerunning my announcement in front of the hospital. The angle widened to show the rest of my group standing behind me, including the very large and distinctive-looking Amber.

  “Hey, that’s you two, isn’t it?” asked a brave, pimply faced employee who looked like he was still in high school.

  I nodded confirmation.

  “Cool,” he said, coming over to talk to us, and that broke the ice. More people converged around us, ringing us in a loose semicircle that had Amber tensing next to me.

  “We’re fine, Amber,” I said, squeezing his arm. “They’re just curious.”

  I answered questions and even signed autographs. The crowd was very well behaved, probably out of respect for Amber and his intimidating size, but that could just be the cynical part of me talking. A few brave people even asked Amber for an autograph, which he gravely gave, after I explained that they just wanted him to sign his name for them. Pretty soon, almost everyone in the store had drifted over to us, except for a few shoppers and salespeople who craned their necks curiously our way but still went about their business.

  It wasn’t long before the manager of the store, an older man with thinning hair and glasses, pushed his way through the thick crowd, saying, “Everyone, please continue your shopping. You cannot gather here. Everyone, please continue your shopping . . .”

  Two mall security personnel followed behind him, a thin man and a short woman.

  “Ms. Hamilton,” the manager said with a strained smile. “How can we help you in our store?”

  “My friend is buying something. We’re almost done.” I was happy to see Quentin at the register paying for his purchase. He made his way over to us, and the crowd parted for him as if sliced open by his beaming smile and outrageously good looks.

  “I thought you were just buying a laptop,” I said, eyeing the two large boxes and blue shopping bag he was loaded down with.

  “There was a very nice combo sale on a laptop, printer, and carry bag. I also got a ream of paper, ink cartridges, and a memory key. You gotta admit that was a pretty quick purchase.” To buy all that in under ten minutes, it really was. It just hadn’t felt that way. It had felt like forever.

  “Any change left?” I asked.

  “Fifty-five dollars and change.”

  I sighed. Another thousand dollars spent.

  I took the shopping bag and passed one of the boxes to Amber to free up a hand for Quentin to sign autographs with, which he did with an easy, charming smile that accelerated quite a few hearts. Our boy was definitely not shy.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to the hovering manager. “All done now. Do you want us to leave the fast way or would you rather we walked out at normal speed?”

  He blinked nervously. “Uh . . . we will walk you out, at normal speed,” he said.

  “The parking lot exit then,” I said, nodding toward where we had entered. Much better than going through the mall with this crowd.

  The security guards made a path for us through the crowd. Cell phones went up on either side of us, with numerous clicks and flashes as we passed by. One last photo opportunity when the young employee near the exit checked our purchased items against the receipt, and then we were out the store. People spilled out the doors, following us.

  “Amber, Quentin. Ready to run? Last one there is a rotten egg,”
I said, taking off.

  We left the crowd behind in a burst of speed, running until we came around to the main entrance.

  “Last one there is a rotten egg?” Quentin repeated as we entered the restaurant. “I cannot believe you said that. It’s probably being posted on the Internet right now.”

  “What does that mean?” Amber asked.

  “It’s just a childish taunt,” I explained, smiling. “A way of saying let’s race and I’m going to beat your ass.”

  People began noticing us almost immediately. A college-aged girl with her hair pulled back in a long brown ponytail watched with a shocked expression as we approached her hostess stand. Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close as she gazed from Quentin up to Amber. Me, she barely glanced at.

  “I’d like three tables outside,” I told her. “The ones closest to the velvet ropes, please.”

  “Um . . . ah . . . how many people?” she asked, clearly flustered.

  “Three at each table. Six others will be joining us soon, so if you could seat us and reserve two other tables next to the velvet ropes, I’d appreciate it.”

  Something about sitting down to eat kept people away who would otherwise have approached anywhere else. An equally flustered waitress came over, stumbled through the specials, and asked if we wanted anything to drink.

  “We’re ready to order now,” I said. I ordered a virgin piña colada, one of my favorite drinks, and a fruit and cheese platter appetizer dish. Quentin ordered two bottles of Coke, unopened, for both himself and Amber.

  “I do not wish to drink anything,” Amber said after the waitress left.

  “It’s just polite custom,” I explained. “If you’re going to take a table at a restaurant, you have to order something, even if it’s just a drink, to pay for taking a seat another paying customer could have occupied instead.”

  Nolan, Hannah, and Dontaine arrived at the same time our drinks were brought out. The rest came ten minutes later, loaded down with shopping bags.

  “What took you guys so long?” I asked, having eaten all the fruit and half of the cheese on my platter.